


That Flesh Is Heir To

by IvyOnTheHolodeck



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Angst, Gen, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 11:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7800241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyOnTheHolodeck/pseuds/IvyOnTheHolodeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't the first time.</p><p>He knows that. He always knows that. He has to remember.</p><p>"Sh-Sherlock?" </p><p>Harden his heart. Ignore the voice (asking, asking, no shred of self-pity within the all consuming why?) echoing in the shadows. The light shines harshly because he needs to see in order to do this. The light cannot beat off the immutable darkness.</p><p>"Sherlock, please, don't do this."</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Flesh Is Heir To

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for violence, murder, and suicidal thoughts.

This isn't the first time.  
  
He knows that. He always knows that. He has to remember.  
  
"Sh-Sherlock?"  
  
Harden his heart. Ignore the voice (asking, asking, no shred of self-pity within the all consuming _why?_ ) echoing in the shadows. The light shines harshly, not that any lamp could beat off the immutable darkness, because he needs to be able to see in order to properly record data.

"Sherlock, please, don't do this."  
  
Down comes the knife, producing a sharp intake of breath and a yelp like a wounded pet. (He shouldn't even know what that sounds like. How does he know? But no, he's always known, that's right, he's always known. Don't forget, don't ever forget.)

His subject tries to be brave (doesn't cry, doesn't scream, doesn't beg, why won't they beg, he might stop if they did, he probably should, but he can't, he _can't_.) "What good does this do? What's the-" a wince- "the point?"  
  
Explanations. He used to be good at those. They used to sneer as he produced them lightning fast, so very fast, but now-  
  
"I need to know," he admits through gritted teeth. "I need to know if he suffered, how he suffered."  
  
"Sherlock-" and it's astonishing that the subject is still talking, how are they still talking? They should be unconscious from the pain, the nociceptors firing regularly unless large-fiber bundles of neurons are blocking the signals- "Sherlock, you can't bring him back. He's gone."  
  
Sherlock smiles, and it's a genuine smile, not like the ones at the funeral, for the press, for his parents, any of them- "Obviously. Who said I could bring him back? Stupid little humans, stupid little minds-"  
  
"Then why? Why do this?" Their voice is weakening, probably from blood loss; that was the case with the last three. (Three? Five? He's lost count.)  
  
"Because." He extracts the blade and raises it again. "Because I need to know." Down. "Because I need to know where it hurts and where it does damage." Up. "Because I need to get it perfect." Down. "Because I made a promise."  
  
They're not talking. Maybe they're dead. He's not sure, he's never sure, he hopes not, but-  
  
"Promise?" It's a weak question, trickling from their mouth alongside crimson bubbles, just like when John looked up at him from the scarlet concrete and whispered _sorry_ -  
  
"I promised him I'd be with him always." Up. "This is the only way I can follow him. Going the way he did." Down.

The subject stiffens and stops moving.  
  
Observations are jotted down on a clipboard. The gurney is rolled into the basement. Final adjustments are made to the machine.

Sherlock steps back, surveying his work. He’s ready.

_John, I'm coming._

**Author's Note:**

> Um...yeah. I swear most of my work isn't this angsty. Feedback is appreciated, as always. :)
> 
> The title comes from Hamlet's famous soliloquy:
> 
> To die, to sleep—  
> No more—and by a sleep to say we end  
> The heartache and the thousand natural shocks  
> That flesh is heir to—’tis a consummation  
> Devoutly to be wished!


End file.
